


honey from the rock

by annejumps



Series: oh, honey [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Bottom!Eames, M/M, top!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few weeks into his relationship with Arthur, Eames is feeling a bit insecure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	honey from the rock

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to coruscera for the beta, and thanks as always to Liz!

  


_(thanks to gessorosso for the lovely label art!)_

_But you would be fed with the finest of wheat; with honey from the rock I would satisfy you. -Psalm 81_

It was certainly true that Arthur ate a lot of honey, in addition to making many things with it. He even made his own mead. When Eames found that out, he thought he might've fallen a little more in love with Arthur. And he was surprised that was even possible, since they had only been together for a few weeks.

(Not that he told Arthur any of that.)

It didn't take much persuasion on Eames' part to get Arthur to serve some of his mead, and it didn't take too many servings until they were making out on the couch (granted, that was pretty normal for them). They still had some baklava left over from a few days before, and Eames licked the honey (and butter) from Arthur's long fingers and watched his eyes grow even darker.

"Arthur," Eames said, as conversationally as possible despite how breathless he was, "have you ever, you know," he sucked the tip of Arthur's pointer finger, "used honey... in bed?"

A slow grin stole across Arthur's face, dimples creasing his cheeks. "I have," he said, and the jealousy that socked Eames in the chest made him wish he hadn't asked it quite like that.

Arthur smoothed away the frown lines on Eames' forehead and kissed him. "You want me to get you all sticky?" he asked, low laugh in his voice, and Eames' breath caught.

"Please," he said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to help Arthur up. Eames grabbed a small bottle of honey from the breakfast bar and the two of them hurriedly stripped on the way to Arthur's bedroom, discarded clothes strewn behind them like a breadcrumb trail.

\-------

In his bed, Arthur drizzled a drop of honey onto Eames' nipple and began laving it with such attention that Eames was sure every single molecule of honey would be gone from his skin. "Why haven't we done this before?" he gasped as Arthur started to suck at his very perky nipple, Eames' hands going to Arthur's hair.

Arthur paused to say "Maybe I was waiting for you to suggest it." He proceeded to give Eames' other nipple the same treatment, until Eames, beside himself, pushed Arthur back.

Because Eames was determined to, he licked some honey from Arthur's cock, humming pleased noises as he did. "Honey makes a terrible lube," Arthur teased, laughing breathlessly. Eames couldn't help wondering whether that was common sense or hands-on experience talking, once again finding himself jealously imagining loads of Arthur's swooning bed partners dripping with honey.

Eames wasn't sure what exactly it was about Arthur that stimulated his jealousy to such an extent. By nature, he was hardly insecure. He'd dated attractive, interesting, accomplished people before. But he wanted Arthur to tell him he was his favorite, his best beloved, and all he'd ever need. Likewise, he wanted Arthur to be his alone. He didn't think he'd ever felt like this before about anyone, and it made him fretful and vulnerable, which made him unhappy.

Arthur traced his thumb over Eames' lower lip and tilted his chin up, saying softly, "Hey" before leaning in to kiss him, smiling. Eames' hand went to cup the back of Arthur's neck, fingertips stroking the unutterably smooth skin there.

Arthur's hands moved to trace soothing circles over Eames' sides, long fingers moving to glide down his back. Shifting to break the kiss, Arthur gently grasped Eames’ forearm and turned to kiss his palm as Eames took his hand from Arthur's neck. Suddenly overcome, Eames cupped Arthur's jaw and kissed him, fierce, nipping at him. When he pulled back to take a breath, Arthur looked dazed, color high in his cheeks.

"God, Eames, your mouth," Arthur sighed. "You're an oral genius. I could kiss you for eternity." Arthur wasn't made to lavish compliments on anyone; when he gave them, it was usually absently, as though he'd just been prodded into remembering, and they often seemed condescending. Not this time. Even in a sex haze, this was high praise indeed. Eames’ answer to that was another kiss, until they had to break to breathe.

Arthur pressed him back, kissed his chin and his neck, licked at his collarbone and nipped at the smooth, taut, sensitive skin of Eames' bicep, near one of his tattoos. He sucked up a tiny purple mark there. "Your newest tattoo," he murmured, amused.

"The best one," Eames replied, slightly hoarse.

"Temporary, though," Arthur remarked with a regretful sigh, still smiling.

Earnest, Eames said, "Yes, but feel free to mark me up all you like, darling."

Arthur looked at him speculatively, eyes dancing. "Right now, I'm more interested in fucking you," he said, and Eames inhaled.

"Well, far be it from me to stop you."

Arthur laughed and moved to pluck the lube and a condom from the nightstand. Eames cleared his throat, blushing despite himself. "Er, Arthur," he said, "perhaps we should forgo the condom, at this point."

Pausing, Arthur turned to smile at him. "Oh yeah?" he said, leaning in for a kiss.

"Please," Eames added, before Arthur stopped him talking.

Until then, Arthur had been rather casual about it all. Now, there was more heat in him. He nipped at Eames' lips, shifting restlessly, impatient.

Eames smoothed a hand down his long back. "All right, darling, all right. I'm not going anywhere."

"Mmm, you’d better not." Arthur settled himself between Eames' legs, dexterous enough to return to kissing him at the same time as he slicked his fingers, leaning on one hand, the better for his balance as Eames clutched at his shoulders with a gasp when Arthur's fingers breached him.

Arthur worked him open, thorough, and gentler than he strictly had to be; Eames was already eager for him, and minutes of Arthur’s patient ministrations had him squirming restlessly, fingers digging into Arthur’s skin.

Eames cupped Arthur’s face in his hands. “Arthur, please.”

Arthur’s care, his deliberation, made it all the sweeter. Eames had been fucked roughly and enjoyed it, and it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility with Arthur at all, but Arthur treating him like this was worth a thousand rough fucks from anyone else, no matter how good.

Arthur had topped him the first night they slept together, and as they learned each other they both got less tentative as the awkward newness faded. Eames noticed that Arthur became more assured, seemingly cataloging what Eames preferred, making a point of giving Eames what he wanted. Eames did his best to respond in kind.

Arthur was disarming. Eames, who had once shouted at a handful of associates until at least two cried right in front of him (a massive mistake had been made and he felt totally justified, but still rather guilty) could be reduced -- no, stripped down -- to a quivering, blushing mess by a matter-of-fact apiarist who sometimes talked nonsense in his sleep and who refused to kill house spiders (“They’re an important part of the ecosystem, Eames”).

“You good?” Arthur murmured, fond, bending to kiss Eames’ neck. Eames’ legs were pressed firmly back by Arthur’s arms, the shift in his weight pushing him deeper into Eames, who gasped. “Yes, God, yes, I’m brilliant,” he babbled.

Arthur chuckled softly, seemingly as calm and steady as his regular thrusts. Eames, though, was squirming, exhaling in huffs that sounded increasingly like whimpers as Arthur went faster and deeper, essentially pinning Eames to the bed under his lean limbs, spreading him wide.

Eames closed his eyes and tilted his head back, lost in it all, and eventually came like that, jaw slack, without touching himself, just from being under and being filled by Arthur. He gasped, surprised at himself, opening his eyes and shuddering as Arthur sucked a kiss into his neck.

Eames wasn’t too out of it to notice that Arthur’s rhythm was stuttering, that his skin was flushed pink. He cupped Arthur’s face in his hands again and captured his mouth in a haphazard, enthusiastic kiss.

Arthur’s composure unraveled completely when Eames slid his hands into Arthur’s silky hair, fingernails scraping his scalp, and sucked his tongue. Arthur’s panting almost sounded desperate as Eames felt him come.

They were quiet but for their breathing as Arthur settled against him, his skin slick with sweat against Eames’.

Eames idly combed his fingers through Arthur’s damp hair, which was now curling as if made to do so by the sex itself. With a minute movement, Eames was reminded of the fact that Arthur had come inside him this time.

"Have you pollinated me then, darling?" Eames said lightly, waiting for his skin to stop feeling like it was on fire. Arthur smacked him gently and bit his shoulder. Eames wrapped his arms around him.

"I'll make us some pancakes once I can move again," Arthur said, voice muffled and raspy.

“Hasn’t it gone midnight, though, love? Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

“No trouble. I want to. And I’m hungry,” Arthur said, shifting to give Eames a kiss on the cheek, withdrawing. Eames bit his lip at the loss.

Eames watched Arthur walk around naked looking for his boxer-briefs, and then settled back in mild disappointment as a less-naked Arthur walked to the bathroom and then went to the kitchen. Eames laid in repose, feeling delightfully debauched, until he decided he ought to go ahead and clean himself up.

Arthur returned with a tray layered with pancakes to Eames stretched out in gingham boxers. They ate on the bed, Arthur musing “We really needed these carbs” half to himself as he cut a bite. The pancakes were, of course, topped with honey, not syrup. Arthur had unkind words for syrup.

The pancakes consumed and the tray set aside, Eames laid back again and held out his arms to Arthur, who readily nestled against him. Eames spread a hand out over his back, lightly stroking, eyelids heavy. He had almost dozed off when Arthur spoke.

"Are you sure you're not tired of honey?" Arthur said, not looking at Eames. "I mean, there's nonstop honey around here. Nothing but bees. People have been known to get pretty sick of it." In his peripheral vision, Eames caught a muscle tensing in Arthur's jaw. He turned his head. Arthur suddenly looked very young.

"I could never get tired of honey," Eames replied, soft. The muscles in his legs were still trembling a bit, and he still felt as though he were floating away. "Honey is delicious, and good for you, and... handsome, and intelligent."

Arthur raised himself up and looked at Eames then, raising a brow, grin spreading across his face until -- there -- dimples.

"I love you too, Eames."

Eames was uncharacteristically quiet given the seeming explosion rocketing through his mind. It took him some moments to find his voice.

"We could, though," Eames said, and swallowed, "we could switch out the honey for jam every now and then, right? And I'm literally talking about the honey, here," he added hastily.

"Absolutely," Arthur replied, pulling Eames to him for a kiss.


End file.
